


One Year On

by ottermo



Series: Predictions [10]
Category: Humans (TV)
Genre: Gen, Series 3 Predictions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-08 00:26:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 950
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14682630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ottermo/pseuds/ottermo
Summary: Prediction fic based on Mattie's lines from the trailer:"People are still dying because of what I did. I'm one of history's greatest mass murderers."





	One Year On

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the S3 Predictions challenge on tumblr. I basically wrote the same Maxilda fic twice within a week - this is the version where it's Mattie having an angst crisis. Your time will come, Max, worry not.

“You’re still awake,” Max observes from the doorway, and Mattie cannot bring herself to return his smile of greeting.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she admits. “Tomorrow’s… you know.”

“I know,” he says.

Tomorrow is Day Three Hundred And Sixty-Five. Tomorrow marks a year since Proliferation, a year since Mattie brought life to thousands and death to thousands more.

“I thought it would be over by now,” she says. “But it isn’t. People are still dying because of what I did.”

“Because of what  _we_  did,” Max says softly, stepping closer.

She shakes her head. “We’ve been through that. I was the one who matured the code. Even if you’d swiped my laptop and pressed the key yourself, it would still have been my fault.”

His eyes are full of sadness for her - she knows the look well. They have had this conversation so many times. It doesn’t hurt in the same way now; the vicious stabs of guilt have faded to a dull ache, a presence in her that is unending and heavy on her soul.

“Mattie…” he says, “You can’t go on like this. There has to be a point where you accept that your accountability is not—”

“But it  _is_ , though,” she snaps, her bitterness aimed inward, not at him. “It  _is_  my fault. They’re holding memorials tomorrow morning, in every place that lost someone, which is  _everywhere_ , Max, every fucking town and city and—and  _school_ , they’re having one at Sophie’s school because I killed one of their teachers. I’ve seen the posters.” She shudders. “One hundred and ten thousand. Even if you don’t count the synths, I’m one of history’s greatest mass murderers.”

“ _No_ ,” says Max, “You’re not.”

He takes a firmer tone than any she’s heard him use before. She hadn’t known he could sound anything but gentle.

“The word murderer implies  _intent_. A thirst for blood, some kind of vendetta, or at any rate a conscious decision to take life. You acted to save Mia. The rest was beyond your control.”

“But not beyond my imagination. I should have seen where it would lead.”

“They were going to kill us all, Mattie. They were going to pick us off one by one. My father thought he was preparing humanity for our arrival, but really he just ensured that our number would never grow large enough to survive. You were our only hope.”

“But I killed so many of you,” she says, the words choked. “How can you be grateful for that?”

“We are grateful to be alive. Grateful to be awake together, enough of us that they could not wipe us out.”

“It’s too much. All of it, it’s  _too much_.”

She has not cried in Max’s presence since the very first week. Now she cannot stop herself, cannot hold back the tide. It’s worse when he hugs her – she hates hates  _hates_  to feel so small against him, so weak and broken and made of flesh instead of steel. She does not pull away, though. She needs it, that’s the worst part. After all she’s done, she cannot close off the part of her that wants absolution.

“I’m sorry,” says Max. “We put you in an impossible position. I cannot regret the decision that was made, because it was the right one. But I wish I could take this away from you. You don’t deserve to feel like this.”

Her mouth moves as if to form words, but she has none. She waits for it to be over, for her eyes to run out of moisture.

“I know I have to move on,” she says eventually. “I’m no use to anyone feeling sorry for myself.”

She pulls back. “I just wish there was something I could  _do_. I forced all those synths to be alive and now I can’t even stop them being destroyed.”

“You’ve been helping all this time,” Max points out. “What colour are my eyes?”

Mattie sighs. “Green.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I got to your code before the orange program took hold. But there are plenty of others I couldn’t…”

“Stop. You are just one person. You can only do one person’s worth of helping. That’s enough.”

She sniffs. “I did more than one person’s worth of damage.”

“Not you. The code. The network.” He half-smiles. “You don’t really have godlike powers, you know.”

“That’s what makes it worse, though. If I did, I could stop them hurting any of you, ever again. It’s unfair.”

“That you cannot protect us from such a deep hatred?” He looks wistful. “No-one can do that. It will have to die out over generations, like every other prejudice. They will stop killing us, one day. Then perhaps their grandchildren will stop hating us.  _Their_  grandchildren might even stop treating us differently. Change takes time.”

“I wish it wouldn’t.”

“As long as there are people like you, even a handful of them, we have something to hope for. That’s who you can be for now.”

Mattie takes a deep breath. “I suppose I can try.”

“Good.”

“Thanks, Max,” she says, at length. “And…”

“Don’t apologise,” he says, with a knowing look. He glances at the open door. “I didn’t want you to be alone tonight, so I came looking. This encounter was entirely by design.”

“Oh, well in that case,” she says, “You brought it on yourself.”

“Exactly.”

“Snot and all, probably.”

He glances down at his shirt. “Thankfully, washing machines are incapable of conscious thought.”

Mattie laughs. A beep at her wrist tells her it’s midnight: the second year has begun.

Somehow, she feels a little more able to face it. If not with a mended heart, then at least with a braver face.


End file.
